


Too Many Degrees of Separation

by Abbyromana



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batman & Superman #55, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Consequences, Dark Magic, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Clark Kent, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbyromana/pseuds/Abbyromana
Summary: While Dick is on the mend, Bruce must face the consequences of his harmful actions that caused Dick’s injuries.





	1. Real Bad Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gnine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnine/gifts).



> As part of batfam-exchange 2013, I wrote this for Gnine on the prompt: Something with Bruce and Dick after the events of Superman/Batman #55 (i.e. the one where Bruce gets Clark's powers, goes a little mad and almost kills Dick when he tries to stop Batman. 
> 
> Oh comics, why always so little aftermath? *siiiigh*

The name - Man of Steel - never seemed more fitting then at this very moment. His grip was ironclad around Bruce's throat. No more than a fleeting breath managed to escape.

Fearfully, Bruce could only stare back at the glowing red eyes of his once friend and ally. He couldn’t speak. No clawing or tugging at the grip would free him. Superman held him firmly on his knees.  
  
Slowly, the bright city lights of Gotham began to dim around them. The insidious shadows loomed ever closer, shielding the dark specters. He saw no particular face, other than Superman, but Bruce knew they were there. They were watching him, judging him.  
  
Then, slowly one by one the specters started to step forward. First, Bruce saw a somber-looking Alfred. The older man stood just beyond Superman's right, broad shoulder. He did nothing to stop the Man of Steel from throttling Bruce. Rather, the older man’s normally passive face was filled with spite, disgust, and resentment.  
  
“Is this the boy I raised?” A defeated sigh fell from the older man's lips. “The boy who I taught right from wrong?” He noisily exhaled out of his nose, before shaking his head. “Really, sir. How could you? How could you do this to us, to Gotham, ... to Master Richard?”  
  
On the name of Bruce’s elder son, Superman’s gripped tightened around Bruce's throat right along with a tightening around his heart.

But Bruce wasn't going to give up. He knew he had to stay focused and try to  escape his captors. Immediately, Bruce looked to the dark world around him. He sought any opening, any tool, any friendly face. He saw none. His resourceful mind was failing him.  
  
“But you don’t care, do you?” scornfully asked a far younger voice that cracked a bit. A moment later, Tim stepped from the shadows, appearing over the other broad shoulder of Superman. He wore his black and red Robin outfit sans the domino mask. His cheeks were tear-stained and slightly bruised. His gaze was cold and accusing. “Dick trusted you!” He scoffed. “I trusted you! And… and you put us through Hell… and for what? The Mission?! For Power?! To what end?!!!”  
  
“How could you?” Alfred added. His voice reverberated off the looming shadows as a mere whimper fought past Bruce’s tightly clamped teeth.  
  
Again, Superman’s hold tightened along with the metaphorical one wrapped around his heart.  
  
With a growl, Superman declared, “What sort of man would do that to the city he swore to protect? To his friends? To his family? To the woman he loved? What sort of father would do this to his son?”  
  
“A monster!” declared the angry voice of Dinah Lance from the shadows.  
  
Half still shaded, a battered and bruised Selina appeared beside Alfred. One hand rested on a blood-stained cheek, while the other wrapped around her mid-section as she limped forward. “I loved you, Bruce!” She huffed out a snarl of outrage. “I thought you felt the same! I thought you’d never do this… to me! To any of us!”  
  
The snarky voice of Oliver Queen snapped out from the darkness. “He’s no better than the rest of the Gotham loonies!”  
  
A scoff, sounding a lot like Hal, stated, “No. He’s worse. A villain in disguise.”  
  
Bruce struggled to cough out, “I…m… not…!”  
  
“Then why, Bruce?” asked an all too calm and familiar voice. Unlike the rest, there was no malice to this voice’s words.  
  
Still, it made a shiver run up Bruce’s spine.

Wildly, his gaze flew about trying to find where the voice originate. He knew this calm voice best of all of them. More times than he could count, this person supported him when no one else would, even believed in him. He had comforted him, even made him smile. In the darkest of hours, he had been single bright spot in Gotham when Bruce thought there was none.  
  
Now, hearing that somber voice, Bruce only felt cold and sick to his stomach. 

Finally, Bruce's moist gaze fell upon the hobbling figure of Dick, at least he thought it was him. Emerging from the shadows, an almost grotesquely battered and bruised figure in black and blue came to stand beside Tim. If not for his blood soaked and brutally shredded Nightwing uniform, which barely clung to his body, Bruce wasn't sure if he would have recognized him.

There were clear signs of broken bones on every body part. One arm was bent back at a wrong angle. The hand of the other just lay limply at the young man’s protruding side. Clearly, several ribs were broken beneath the partially exposed chest. One leg was bent at an unnatural, painfully looking angle.  
  
As for his face, Dick's domino mask was missing. Grief was colored the splotch coated pale face. Both of Dick’s eyes were nearly swollen shut. His lower lip was huge with a giant gash that went straight down his chin. His jaw looked badly battered and slightly askew as if broken.  
  
When Dick spoke, Bruce could saw he was missing teeth. “How could you?” He drew in a ragged breath as his mouth just hung open.  
  
A nervous swallow tried to fight past Superman’s grip. That only encouraged the Man of Steel to tighten his grip even further.  
  
“How could you?!” once more declared more than asked Superman.  
  
“How could you?!” Tim shouted at the top of his lungs  
  
“How could you?” boomed the shadows of his once friends and allies.  
  
With a weary and heavy sigh, Alfred asked, “Oh, what would your parents think?”  
  
A familiar clicking of heels on cement suddenly echoed in the looming darkness. From one side, emerged two all too familiar figures. “Son!” Bruce’s gaze was drawn to Thomas and Martha Wayne, stepping forward with horrified expressions. His mother covered her gaping expression with the back of her hand. His father just averted his gaze in disgusted disappointment. “What have you done?!”

Bruce only had enough time to gasp before Superman snapped his neck. 

  _To be continued..._

 


	2. Not Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce must face the backlash of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has read this story on my Livejournal, I've made a lot of edits and additions, starting in this chapter. I decided I wanted to flush the ongoing events of the story, since Bruce's actions affected a lot of people.
> 
> Of course, that means I lack any beta reading, so I apologize for any grammatical issues.

“No!” The words were out Bruce's lips a split second before he shot upright.

A cold darkness surrounded him, but he saw no Superman looming over him. Still, one hand flew to his throat. He found neither a Kryptonian hand nor any sign that one had been there. Pants continue to fall from his lips as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.

Soon, Bruce could make out familiar shapes in the darkness. Past the wrinkled, horizontal surface he sat upon, he saw his writing table, his dresser, and looking to his right, his bedside table. Widening his eyes, Bruce's mind finally caught up with him.

Placing his hands over his face, he wiped the sweat away.

A nightmare. The whole event had been some horrible, if far too vivid, nightmare. Bruce was almost relieved. Nightmares weren't unusual for him. Almost every night, he suffered through them. His parents’ appearance in it almost made it like every other, except it wasn’t, not completely. He could feel it in the way his body still shook, and his mind kept dragging him back to it. That was in no small part thanks to the recent incident with Superman and Banshee.  
  
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bruce pushed back the blankets and started to rise. His legs were as shaky as his tired mind, so he paused briefly, putting his weight against the bed again. 

Glancing at his bedside clock, Bruce noted it was well past the time Alfred usually roused him from sleep. He confirmed that with a glance to his drawn windows. A bright glow of sunlight was trying to sneak around the curtains. Feeling his tiredness pulling at his eyelids, he debated lying back down. However, Bruce had no wish to return to his newest nightmare.  
  
Rubbing his eyes once more, he forced himself back up and on to far more stable legs. Then, he retrieved his changing robe from its place on the back of the bathroom door. Inside, he took a moment to splash cold water into his face. The cold touch on his face helped a bit to wake up, but it also made him shiver and his heart tighten.

Behind his briefly closed eyes, he felt drawn back to his dream world. Then again, maybe it was some perverted mix of memory and nightmare. All he knew, darkness surrounded him again, but this time, the entire League stood defiantly before him.

oOo

"Batman." Bruce’s eyes snapped to Wonder Woman – Diana – standing a few feet in the air. Her blue eyes had a coldness to them as they locked solely on him. Her voice was resolute and composed. She stood ahead of everyone else as if speaking for all of them. One hand squeezed the fist of the other. "It's over."

As she continued to speak, Bruce's eyes couldn't help but flicker to those closely flanking her. His calculating thoughts were already analyzing each League member and their threat level. A balance of his new speed and strength would be needed.

On Wonder Woman’s left was a fiery eyed Supergirl – Kara Zor-El. Her fists were balled up at her sides. She was fast and nearly as strong as him. However, she was young and lacked Bruce’s experience.

To the right of Diana, Bruce saw two Green Lanterns – Hal Jordan and John Stewart. Hal’s gaze was narrowed. His lips were curved up, or maybe they were straight. Either way, he looked too smug to Bruce. He couldn’t wait to crack the man’s face with a punch. As for John, the broad-shouldered man was as stoic as ever, but his ring was glowing threateningly before him. Bruce knew he’d have to be quick before either produced a construct to trap him.

Blowing out a breath through his nose, Bruce returned his focus to Diana – the only real threat to him. “…We can do it the easy way… or the hard way."

Bruce couldn’t help but smirk in response

oOo

Bruce gripped the edge of the sink, forcing his eyes open again. “No.” This time the word was said harshly but softly to himself.

Shaking the dark hallucination, he turned and left the bathroom. He needed to get some place brighter and less confining. Turning again, he left the bedroom all together.

When he stepped out on to the second-floor landing, Bruce stopped in mid-step. The open hallway was nearly as dark as his bedroom. He hadn't expected that. Being well past noon, the space should be filled with the glow of the sun. The only visible light came from the few shards of sunlight penetrating the drawn curtains of the Main Hall. When he looked over the banister, Bruce didn’t even notice the glow of the fireplace emanating through the study doors. That surprised Bruce yet again, but not as much as the lack of noise.

  
At this time of day, Bruce expected to hear downstairs activities.  Alfred would be busy making a late breakfast or early dinner. Tim would be busy in the study with school work or research on a new case. Cassandra might be with Tim or practicing her dancing in the Main Hall. However, it was nearly dead silent. There was only the soft sound of the grandfather clock at the end of the second-floor hallway.  
  
Sniffing, Bruce noticed the aroma of food cooking wasn’t in the air. Neither was there the warm smell of firewood burning. That should have been lit, since it was already well into November and snow already covered the ground outside.  
  
Furrowing his brow, Bruce headed down the second-floor hallway to the grand staircase. He was determined to figure out why everything was so quiet and dark. It was unacceptable. No matter what happened to him, Bruce couldn’t imagine Alfred and everyone else changing old habits. In particular, Alfred was a stickler for not missing meals and upkeeping Wayne Manor.

That’s when he heard soft murmuring from a partial open door, just a few doors down from his room. Neither the sound itself nor the words spoken really caught his attention. Rather, it was the fact they were coming from Dick’s room that made his heart skip a beat.  
  
Bruce’s throat tightened. For a moment, his mind raced, both elated and terrified at the same time. He was happy to know his son was awake, but terrified at the prospect of facing the consequences of being a super powered Batman.

Yet, his need to know Dick’s condition drove him towards the door. With great care, Bruce stepped over to the partially opened doorway. He leaned forward, peering inside and listening intently.

There seated on a wooden chair beside Dick’s bed was Tim. In both hands, he held a large black covered tome. Under the glow of the table lamp, he was reading aloud from large book. His voice was soft and steady. At first, Bruce guessed he was reading it to Dick.

Then, he spotted Cassandra seated crossed legged on the bed beside Dick. Her gaze was primarily focused on Tim as he read. She was gently holding on to one of Dick’s hands. Every once and awhile, she moved forward to adjust his blanket or sweep back a few sweaty strands from his black and blue tinted brow.  
  
Looking more closely at the prone figure in the bed, Dick did not appear awake. His eyes looked less swollen than the last time Bruce saw him, but they were still shut. Slowly, his chest rose and fell as if in rest. Glancing to the soft and repetitive beeping of the medical equipment confirmed his assumption. Dick was still resting off the drugs Alfred had given him.  
  
“How could you, Bruce?” growled the threatening voice of Superman from his dream. Unconsciously, his hand went to his throat. It tightened as if the Man of Steel’s hand was there.  
  
“How could you?!” shouted all the accusing dream voices at once. They were like thunder inside of his head, briefly deafening him.  
  
Bruce shut his eyes, trying to shut out the remnants of his nightmare. He wanted desperately to keep his waking thoughts free of it. He didn’t need it to cloud his judgment, not now that it was over. However, the more he fought it, the louder the voices became. Soon, he felt memories from when he was under the spell fill his waking thoughts.  
  
Only when Dick’s door abruptly flew opened, they suddenly stopped. Bruce’s eyes opened to a glowering Tim. Despite the young man now not looming over him as he had in the dream, Bruce still felt the need to take a step back.  
  
“What?” practically snapped Tim. His voice was low but sharp. When Bruce didn’t immediately reply, Tim huffed out a frustrated sigh. “No. He’s not awake yet. Alfred had to give him an increased dose. Particularly after the first sedative did nothing to numb his pain.” Bruce noticed how Tim’s jaw tightened on the last sentence.

Bruce’s stomach tightened as his gaze flickered to the bed. Cassandra was looking at Bruce with wide eyes. Her hand had tightened on Dick’s hand. For the first time, he noticed tears in her eyes. He hadn’t seen her  like this since her confrontation with her father.

Forcing himself, he looked to the young man on the bed. He still remembered their confrontation as if it just happened. Dick had done everything right to avoid getting hurt, except not coming to save Selina and confronting him.  
  
Tim’s voice drew Bruce back a moment later. “And even if he was awake, do you really think he’d want to see you…?” Despite his voice breaking, there was an unspoken threat to those words. From his disheveled state to his white knuckled grip on the door handle, the young man was still teetering on the verge of full out, uncontrolled fury. “… after all you…”

“Tim?” Cassandra’s voice interrupted Tim. Bruce wasn’t sure if she did it to simply draw Tim’s attention back or stop him from saying something more.  
  
Either way, Bruce simply nodded his understanding. He took a step back. Even before he turned to leave, he saw the door shut. It was closed quietly, but the meaning was very clear. He wasn’t wanted. 

oOo

As he walked through the dining hall, Bruce noticed a quiet eeriness remained on the main floor. There was still no sound of cooking or cleaning coming from the kitchen. He didn’t even hear the radio playing. Alfred usually listened to the news or classical music station when he was in there by himself.

Swallowing, Bruce pushed open the door to a nearly empty kitchen. Only three, unclean coffee cups and a teapot sat abandoned on the center island. When he touched the teapot, it felt only slightly warm.  
  
Just then a chilly breeze crept up Bruce’s bare neck. He involuntarily shivered as his gaze shifted to the backdoor. The wood and brass, reinforced kitchen door stood partially open. Considering the time of year, Bruce was surprised that Alfred would leave it open.  
  
Furrowing his brow, Bruce walked over to close it. When his hand fell upon the handle, he briefly expected to see Alfred pushing his way through with an armload of wood for the fireplaces. Instead, he saw no one.  
  
Feeling more curious than deflated, he opened the door more fully and stepped outside. The small kitchen patio lay before him. All the spring flower beds were bare. Only the simple, two-chair patio table held any flowers. Right beside them, sitting in a reclined position in a matching chair, was Alfred.  
  
The older man’s back was to Bruce. He appeared relaxed but slightly disheveled. His thinning hair was uncombed. He was wearing the same thick, gray sweater and black pants from yesterday. Only now, Alfred also wore a thick, ratty, red scarf around his neck. It was nothing like the neatly kept and cleaned clothes the older man usually wore.  
  
Bruce’s lips parted to call out to Alfred. Suddenly, recognition hit him about the scarf. That had been a Christmas gift from Dick. In the next instant, he knew why Alfred was wearing it.

Nearly fourteen years ago, a ten-year-old Dick gave up almost all of his free time for six months to earn enough money for a Christmas gift for Alfred. He mowed lawns, dusted high chandeliers, and looked after family pets for nearby neighbors. When that only went so far, he asked various League members. Much to Bruce’s surprise, every hero was more than willing to take up his offer. He heard Dick even cleaned Diana’s invisible jet. In the end, he had earned enough for the red, fleece scarf.

Alfred had kept it ever since. He usually pulled it out this time of year. Today of all days, the older man probably needed that gift especially.  
  
Bruce was tempted to leave the older man alone. He had no real reason to bother him, if Alfred was so lost in thought. Also, after Tim scolded him, Bruce worried Alfred was in a similar mood. He didn’t want to confront that again.

As Bruce turned to reenter the house, Alfred suddenly said, “I see you have finally awaken, Master Bruce.” There was an impersonal tone to his voice that almost rivaled the cold ambient temperature.  
  
Bruce turned back, seeing that Alfred had turned in his chair to face him. Without thinking about it, Bruce gave Alfred a raised eyebrow. When Alfred returned it as if in question, Bruce nodded. “Yes.” Thinking better then to stop there, he went on. “I’m sorry if I overslept and missed breakfast.”  
  
“You didn’t,” Alfred replied quickly. “Master Timothy, Miss Cassandra, and I did not have much of an appetite this morning, and Master Richard…” His voice trailed off. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut as if in great pain.  
  
Part of Bruce wanted to reach out to the old man, but he held back.  
  
“But perhaps, I can prepare a brunch for you while you are in the shower, sir,” Alfred suggested as he gradually rose from his seat. “I’m sure you’ll want to be off to the office soon.”  
  
Bruce drew a long breath. “I’m not so sure, Alfred. Maybe…” He paused, dipping his gaze for a moment as the nightmare and the last several weeks played out in his head yet again. “Maybe, I should stay around. I’m sure Lucius…”  
  
Alfred coughed, drawing Bruce’s attention back to him. The older man stepped up to him. He stood almost a foot shorter than Bruce, but Bruce still felt dwarfed by the older man.

“If I may suggest otherwise, sir, I think it might be better if you don’t… linger around.” He shut his eyes, drawing in a long breath through his nose. “For Master Richard’s sake.”  
  
Bruce felt his world tip over. The closest thing he had to a father-figure had left him briefly stammering for words. “Alfred, I… you know… I…”  
  
“I know, sir,” Alfred replied bluntly. His eyes were still shut. “It was the spell’s influence that made you lash out at us… at Master Richard, but it’s more than just what you did.” The older man’s voice shook slightly. “It was how you did it!”  
  
When the old, tired brown eyes opened again, they were brimming with tears. “You just dropped him. As if he were a bag of rubbish to be tossed aside. So, callous! You didn’t even bother to let us know he was lying there in the Main Hall. Miss Cassandra had to find him there bleeding out when she arrived home.” He sniffled, wiping his nose with a handkerchief from his pants pocket. “And when I sought you out myself afterwards, asked you…” There was a new tightens to his voice. “You just grunted at me, before flying off without a word. There wasn’t a hint that you…”  
  
“But it wasn’t me, Alfred,” Bruce insisted, stepping forward. He heard his voice rise in anger, and quickly regretted it. He tried to calm himself as he continued. “Not really. If I’d been in control… if I’d known…”  
  
“Then, you wouldn’t have?” Alfred said questioningly. He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, sir. I know you. I have known you, since before you could walk and talk. You have always been a determined boy. Stubborn and brash. A boy who wouldn’t let a special gift go so easily. You always hold very tightly to it, especially when it is something you’ve always wanted, something you think you deserve. The power to be faster than a speeding bullet… like the one that killed your parents.”  
  
Bruce closed his eyes, turning his head to face away.  
  
“Strong enough to lift a building off a helpless family trapped from one of The Joker’s bombs,” Alfred continued. “Able to fly farther and faster to protect more than just Gotham… all of the world from the same evil. No more orphans. No more suffering.” Something between a scoff and a chuckle breezed past Alfred’s lips. “I’m sorry, sir, you would have still used and abused that power, even if you had been in complete control of your facilities.”  
  
“But I …” Bruce started to say.  
  
“And Master Richard would still have come after you,” Alfred continued as if he didn’t hear Bruce speak. “He’s just as stubborn and determined as you. No, sir, you two would still have fought. Whether Master Richard would have been as badly hurt, I can’t say.”  
  
“But I would have tried not to… hurt him,” added Bruce. His voice slowly faded off. He was starting to doubt his own sincerity too. “I know.”  
  
“And you think you would have taken more care in delivering him, injured and all, back here,” Alfred said, sounding nowhere near convinced. “Perhaps.”  
  
There was a silent pause between them. Bruce felt half way gone already, cut off from the family he had built.  
  
Alfred stood with a cup in one hand and a fisted-up handkerchief in the other. “I’m thinking about what's best for Master Richard. You hurt him. Not just physically.”  
  
Bruce slowly nodded, feeling an increase in the tightness in his heart.  
  
“When he was recovering, he was in great pain,” Alfred explained. “In his quasi-conscious state, he whimpered your name in distress. He cringed away from anyone touching him. It took Master Clark and Mistress Zatanna holding him down for me to get him properly sedated.”  
  
Bruce felt his heart bleed. He wanted to be covered up in his Kevlar Batman suit to hide from all these feelings bombarding him. There he could pretend not to be the man who had done this, or at least, pretend not to care so much.  
  
“No, sir,” Alfred said in a tight voice. “I insist you give Master Richard plenty of space. Let him reach out to you when he is ready. He deserves that… after everything. He needs time.”  
  
Bruce reluctantly nodded, fighting the sharp ache in his chest. “I promise.” 

  _To be continued..._

 

 

 


End file.
